


Broken Strings of fate

by orphan_account



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Asgardian Thor, But I don't know whether to count it as an actual death..., But he can be really sweet as well, Dark Loki, Frigga knows whats up, God Loki, Gore and Blood, Kid Thor, Loki and Thor Are Not Related, M/M, Minor Character Deaths, Read the warnings!, There will be a major character death..., Underage(But no sex), Very dark!, Violence, don't ignore my warnings, it gets hella explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:12:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4446545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cold fingers stroked the threads with a dangerous reverence, pulling at the threads with a deathly mastery, similar to that of a Mastered Harpist or bowman. There were so many, their lines strung and tangled among each other, each a silver hue of light, echoing the life they held in their bonds. And he saw them all, watched over them all, helped them stretch and grow, cut them free when their lives came to an end, the lights drifting from the thread and into the awaiting wonders of life after death.</p><p>I run to, I run to you.<br/>I'll keep chasing, keep chasing you.<br/>I don't judge you love, I never have before.<br/>We make mistakes, we leave them by the door.</p><p>I'll wait for you, I'll wait for you<br/>Don't quit on me, don't quit on me.<br/>Please trust me now, trust me now<br/>I won't hurt you love, won't hurt you love</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I changed the summary, because I'm weird like that!!!

Cold fingers stroked the threads with a dangerous reverence. Pulling at the threads with a deathly mastery, similar to that of a Harpist or bowman. There were so many, so many strings,strung back and forth. Their lines tangled among each other, each a silver hue of light, echoing the life they held in their bonds. And he saw them all, watched over them all, helped them stretch and grow, cut them free when their lives came to an end, the lights drifting from the thread and into the awaiting wonders of life after death.

Sharp nails cut into one of the delicate threads, blade-like piercing and causing it to split and flutter away from its place in the multitude of its brothers and sisters. The cut was followed by the piercing howl of a wolf and the scurry of a chase as his hunters dragged the cut soul from its host.

Jade eyes glowing among the dark shadows, the owner of the cold fingers leaned forward, the broken thread dead and still in his palm.

It’s so pathetically delicate, yet so beautiful. Life. It gave one the desire to grasp it with reverence and care for it as one would a jewel or treasure.

His palms held the thread like one would a lovers hand, feeling the non-existent weight against his skin, and with a quick blow of air, the strand fluttered out of reach and to the ground, disintegrating seconds later.

His muttering was interrupted by the harsh rumble of his large chamber doors being pushed open. Green eyes flickering up, he watched with an emotionless gaze as two people emerged from the hallway and into his chambers.

A young girl, of ethereal beauty. Spun black hair that curled and fell along the curvature of her back, from her skull protruded two thin horns, black and curved around her head. She was naked, yet the sight stirred no interest in him, he may be the bringer of death, but he was no animal. Supple breasts hidden by the long strands of ebony hair, drawing gaze to the mound of hair that curled delicately between her legs, hiding her core beneath the soft strands of fur.

Beside her, head bowed, body barely held up and stumbling under her firm grasp. A man, skin pallid and ashen. His body was adorned by the gold Armour of the Asgardia forces, yet from the broken placement of his right arm and the blood splattering his cheek, he was worse for wear. Gone was the proud stance of one of Odin's soldiers. His gaze lifted, black eyes watering and lip trembling in both fear and anguish.

“Oh Lord, Please! Mercy!” His panicked gasped repeated, over and over again, becoming an irritating mantra until the woman slapped him over the head, silencing him instantly.

“Silence!” She snarled, baring her teeth, two sharp canines winking from between her black lips. She seemed more animal than girl.

“Hela, my dearest daughter, play nice.” A playful grin spread over Loki’s features, emerald eyes sparkling as the young girl bowed her head, “It is most unusual for you to drag men into my chamber, not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

With a flick of her wrist, the man fell to his knees before the shadowed throne, his hand scratching the tiles in an attempt to pull back. His face smeared with tears and snot, blood smearing across the tiles, a low whimpering gurgle moving through his body and out his chapped lips.

With a tired sigh and a quick flick of his finger, the man was up and being pulled by unseen forces, his body coming closer and closer despite his struggles.

“Calm yourself boy.” Loki breathed, his hand reaching out, ignoring the frightened flinch the man gave in response. “Your life is in my hands regardless of what you do.”

His words made the man cease movement, his body going limp. Only the small twitches of his hands as sickening sobs fell from his lips.

“Frigga has borne a son, an heir to Asgard’s Throne, Odin sent his men in hopes of stealing the child’s thread from your grasp, they seek to steal your power over the child’s life.” Hela spoke over the blubbering soldier, her black eyes unmoving and emotionless, and when she spoke her piece, her body turned, leaving a breath of cold air in her wake.

He shook his head, a spark flickering in his eyes, and an outreach of his hand, cold fingers grasped the man by his neck, pulling him forward.

“Such a waste, Odin values his men very little if he sent them straight to their doom so carelessly.”

His lips ghosted over the soldier’s mouth, cold air brushing the already ashen skin, and the contact seemed to draw more life from the man, because his eyes fluttered and a sickening gurgle trembled through his throat. Black bile spilled from his lips, spilling down his chin and onto Loki’s fingers.

“Tell me, what is your name?” Loki crooned voice seductive in the quite, empty room.

The man choked, more black spilling over his lips, a whispered word making its way through the disgusting mess.

“Lyall.”

His grin spread wider, eyes glowing brighter.

“Lyall. Shield-Wolf. Your mother named you well. Tell me Lyall, do you know what happens to your soul if I feed you to my wolves?”

Tears streamed down ashen cheeks as the man shook his head, his eyes widening into large round gaping pupils which pleaded for mercy. He reached out, shaking hands trying to grasp the dark cloak surrounding his throne, but he could not reach far enough, his fingers fell short.

“Well, with each piece they tear of your body, they pull a piece of your soul away as well, till they’ve gobbled up every single bite, and there’s nothing left for the Valkyries to steal away.”

His words seemed to wake something, a frightening new energy which made the man shake, broken whimpers falling onto Loki’s ears.

“Please, mercy my Lord! I was only following orders!” In broken gasps of breath, more bile bubbling from between his lips. Being surrounded by death had to be taking its toll on the soldier’s body, draining away his life slowly and surely.

“You know my name boy, use it.” Came the snapped reply, causing the boy to flinch.

Loki, My Lord, I beg for mercy! I have children and a wife, I cannot leave them!”

His canines flashed, emerald eyes staring at the life slowly dwindling from the man’s body. But everything had an order, and killing the soldier would have consequences, Loki had sworn to hold the balance and protect it, not abuse his powers.

“I won’t kill you.” The God breathed, breath ghosting over pallid flesh, beginning to turn the skin blue, “But believe me when I say that punishment will await you for your insolence, for daring to steal from me.”

The soldier choked, eyes rolling as his body fell from Loki’s grasp, slumping to the tiled floor. Almost as if summoned by Loki’s words, two shadowed creatures emerged from the floor, grabbing the man and pulling him up to his feet.

“Get him out of my sight, and fetch me my daughter, I have a birthing ceremony to attend.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just a quick chappie to get the ball rolling ;))))
> 
> Also, this is the song which inspired this whole story!!!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-dhMjbrn9Lw

Despite descending from a family of fertile and virile parents and siblings, Frigga had not inherited her family's luck. Bearing only one son, her beloved son, Balder, her womb remained barren despite her husband’s virility. And he was virile, Odin was not known for his ability to withstand even a day without touching his wife, but even so. She was the All-Mother, yet she had failed in the one thing her station demanded of her.

She loved Odin, loved her husband with the depth and breadth of her soul, but a King needs sons, and Balder has renounced his claim on the throne. Asgard needed heirs and Frigga failed her role as queen by not doing her duty and producing them, there was no greater shame. She could not provide her husband with the Sons he needed, could not give Asgard the legacy it deserved.

She knew the council would demand that Odin take a surrogate, a step in for the queen. And each night left alone made her sick, her mind numbing with the thoughts and images of her husband with another. Odin loved her, she knew that, had known since the day he fought for her hand against her other suitors. But he was King, and a King has his duties, regardless of his queen's personal views and feelings.

So when she woke one morning, now used to the coldness at her side, and the emptiness of her bed, nine months giving her more than enough time to adjust to the heartache. She awakens to her handmaiden's announcement that the birth of the new Prince has been successful. The new Prince has arrived. Frigga rolls onto her side and proclaims herself unwell for the remainder of the day.

* * *

They name him Thor, for his screams roll through the palace like Thunder, and his eyes shine bright and luminescent like lightning. Frigga shoves away the resentment in her gut, convincing herself to hold the child and care for him as she would her own. He has no mother, the surrogate Odin had taken to his bed gone now, having served her duty. It’s easy enough to love him, for his screams silence when she holds him, and he gazes at her as one in awe. He is but a child, and the emotional pain caused by his conception is not his fault, but a harsh game played by the fates. Hugging him close, she weeps for herself and for him, and for the harsh world they both live in.

Odin does not smile as he accompanies and watches them, his eyes shadowed by bags of sleeplessness. Frigga reaches a tired hand out, pressing her palm to his cheek. Her smile not as warm, nor as care-free, the harshness of their reality eating away at her heart.

“What troubles you my King, surely a smile should grace your expression for your son’s birth.” He offers a weak-hearted smile, though it is anything but warm, and places a hand over hers. His lips press against her skin, a ghost of the affections they shared before the crown wedged a cold stake between them.

“Our men returned from their mission.” He doesn't need to say more, her eyes show that she understands his meaning. The mission to gain Thor’s life-thread, to pull him from death's clutches, a mission she had been against from the very beginning. Odin’s grim expression is more than enough to tell her that their mission failed, their little prince was still as trapped as the rest of them. Her gaze lowered, fingers brushing blond locks from the sleeping face of her youngest child, his slumbering form soft and pliant against her bosom.

"One of our men returned early this noon, only to discover his daughter had been mauled by a bear near the outskirts of our kingdom, another tells me that his wife and two daughters were raped and slaughtered by bandits, they both tell me that these were foreseen punishments for daring to steal from-"

" _Enough_ , do not speak his name." Frigga snapped, her face pale, stomach curling with nausea. Her hands covered Thor's ears and eyes, as if to shield his innocence from the disgusting crimes of Kings and Gods. 

“What is to happen now?” She breathed.

“There is nothing we can do right now, Loki will be on guard if he knows our motives.” Odin said, rubbing a palm over his face, his arms crossing over his chest as he gave the two of them a lasting glance. "We lost a good fraction of the group, and the ones that returned have renounced their place in the army, they speak as if mad, telling me of something coming, some darkness which shall doom us all."

Frigga shook his head, her head already aching with the new pile of worries and stresses. “We have his name day in a week; it is a time for celebration. We will worry about everything after that.” She choked out, tears beading at the edge of her eyes.

Odin made to shake his head, but stilled at her cold glance.

“I am _tired_ husband." Her voice cracked, lips pressed together in a grim frown. "So _tired_ , and so is our new son. The last thing I desire right now is for you to drag war upon us, because you wish to give our child immortality. Now talk of this no more until his name day has passed.”

She did not see his expression to her words, nor heard his response, and when she finally did turn to glance at him, all that was left was the dark shadows of the moon dancing over the wall, and the quiet emptiness of an abandoned chair.

"Oh my Child." She whimpered, pressing her forehead to Thor's soft cheek, "What have we done."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me too much for the depressing atmosphere!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, sorry abut the short chapters, unfortunately that's how I'm going to do this... Short and often!

The birth of their prince seemed to wash away everyone's worries and fears, the overhang of grim sullenness fading away with the excitement and celebration of the oncoming name-day. It made the days move quicker, passing by like feathers fluttering in the wind. Coming and going so suddenly, it’s difficult to comprehend one moment from the next.

Then it’s there, the morning of his name day, the hustle and bustle and overwhelming excitement.

Servants run around, setting up the food and decorations, the musicians and the entertainment finding its place in the hallways. Its late midday when people begin to herd into the palace, mouths whispering in ears of the beauty and splendor, gossiping on the new prince and what his future would hold.

Will he be Mighty or Humble, Handsome or Hideous.

The young prince swallowed all the praise and attention his little body could manage, cooing and giggling at each new face until they all seemed to blur into one continuous, repetitive body of features and names.

The celebrations went late into the night, the singing growing louder and merrier with each passing hour. The contagious joy brought a smile to even the queen's face, whose soft features held a grimness in the crease of her brow. An unconscious worry marring her once flawless face.

It ran so late, that the once energetic prince, bundled in his fur down, was tucked into an oak cradle beside the throne, his blue eyes closing, where people could approach and coo at the tiny creature while he slept peacefully.

The walls glowed golden warmth with the hung lanterns, magic casted upon them to keep them alight without the use of oil. The great hall echoed loudly with the chatter and laughter of the kingdom's people, no one noticed the dancing shadows that began to move along the walls, sliding and slipping inconspicuously across the room, swallowing each lantern into shadow.

The wind began to whistle through the curtained balconies, a crow seating itself itself on a perch, high in the rafts, out of sight.

Only when the darkness began to surround the room, did everyone realize, in their drunken and merry haze, that something was _very_ wrong.

The guards left their drinks, surrounding the room restlessly, fingers grasping their spears and shields. Their narrowed eyes scoured the room for a threat, but none could be seen, only the restless moving of the frightened crowd.

But Odin knew, when the temperature began to drop, Odin knew what was happening, his blood running ice through his veins.

“Bolt the doors.” He shouted, frightening the crowd, the shouting causing the young prince to stir and begin to cry out. Odin paid no mind as Frigga stood, running to soothe the young child. “Let nothing in or out!”

His men ran to complete the order, slamming every entrance and window closed, directing the restless and anxious crowd into a huddle away from the exits.

Yet, despite the closed windows, a breeze moved through the room, cold and chilling to the bone. Almost like a whisper as it shifted through the air _._

A scream tore through the room as the floor began to shift, the crowd tripping and leaping over each other to try and gain balance. Yet upon closer inspection, Odin realized that the floor was not moving, but instead millions of small black streaks, like black snakes, slithered across the tile towards the throne, quick and agile, until finally they came to a stop inches Odin's seat.

_How foolish of you, to believe that you could bolt me out._

It was spoken, loud and daunting in the ears of everyone present. Yet no one’s lips moved and the words seemed to come as if they were echoing inside Odin’s head, as if they were spoken in his mind and not out loud. A murmur tore through the room, woman clutching children close as the men drew arms to protect the vulnerable.

The black creatures moved together, curling and slithering over and into each other, till they began to form a singular shape. A man. The blackness ebbed to reveal pale skin and emerald eyes, horns curling from the top of his ebony hair, adorned with rings of gold and curling till they reached a sharp point.

A cold grin glinted from between red lips as Loki looked up, his body adorned with black robes and silver armor.

Before Odin had time to speak, to placate the guest, a blade appeared over Loki’s head and swept down, severing his head in two. Black liquid oozed from the severed body. For a second, it almost seemed as if Loki’s life faded from his eyes, a flicker of something akin to shock in his expression as his body melted away into ash. Behind him, hands shaking as he clutched the axe, a young lad dressed in armor and Asgard's emblem, Odin shuddered to think of how young he was.

But before the unfortunate guard responsible for the blow could even celebrate his victory, the dust began to move, forming a cloud of black which spun and moved until it encompassed him in its black embrace. It blocked him from sight, his screams filling the rooms, anguished and distraught, as if his skin were being peeled away layer by layer.

A shriek tore through the hall as a woman broke through the crowd, trying to reach out but held back by two other spectators.

“No!” She wailed, “My son! _Please_!”

Her words disappeared over the tortured screams of the soldier, slowly growing weaker and weaker as whatever it was tore more of his life from him with each second.

Men tried to approach the swirling cloud, spears and daggers being thrown at it to see if they could put an end to the witchery, yet each blow was only repelled, and if anything it only caused the dust to grow larger and larger.

"Enough!" Odin roared, slamming his fist down, "Release him to his mother Loki!"

It went silent, Odin's words echoing against the walls. The dust cleared, once again forming an untarnished Loki, his eyes bored and disinterested as he gazed up at the All-father, an air of irritation in his expression.

"My son! Please!" The woman wailed, her cries high-pitched and tortured, but the guard was gone, and in his place was nothing more than a pile of blackened bones.

The skull sat neatly in Loki’s palm, staining his own fingertips with soot. 

“A souvenir.” He drawled, throwing the head to the distraught women, her hands grasping the skull with shaking and manic hands, words spewing from her mouth with little coherency.

Loki laughed, from his hand a now broken thread, and as the women’s gaze caught sight of it, she fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh, Evil and badass!


	4. Chapter 4

Each muscle was tensed in an uneasy state, weapons poised and ready to attack. Yet no one moved. Not a sound was made. The collapsed woman was left, her body prone on the floor, limbs haphazardly stretched, her son’s skull cracked and rocking a few feet away.

“Odin, stop wasting my time. Tell your men to lower those useless toothpicks they call spears.” Odin waved his hand, his men lowering their weapons hesitantly, eyes dark and watchful over the stranger.

The air was beginning to grow polluted with the stench of fear, it twisted stomachs and turned skin pallid with nausea.

The commotion had stirred the once slumbering prince, his cries once again filling the heavy silence. Frigga tried to calm him, shushing him and rubbing her hands over his stomach, praying Loki would pass him by and pay him no attention.

“What do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Odin’s voice shook, hand clenching his armrest in fear. He kept glancing at his wife and child, measuring the distance it would take to grab them and run, but such thoughts were hopeless, they were stuck.

Loki’s grin spread, eyes flickering with glee.

“A little wolf pup told me that an heir had been born. I thought such a thing couldn't possibly be true, for why was I not invited.” His eyes darkened, voice becoming colder and colder with each word spoken.

“But then I noticed the tiniest of threads beginning to grow on my bow. I assume my invitation was lost in the excitement.” His hand reached behind him, beneath the dark cloak, pulling free a bow. Around the neck a long, black thread wrapped itself tight, weaving in and out of small holes through the wood. And strung from one end to the other, hundreds of smaller threads were pulled tight.

Odin stared at the instrument, feeling faint at the sight of Loki’s hands so close to his wife and son’s lives, the lives of all he held dear, within reach.

“Loki, _please_.” He choked, but all the other man did was laugh, his fingers plucking teasingly at the strings. He pulled them; testing and stretching their give, till it looked as if they may snap, then he released them, allowing them to shudder back into place.

“I must thank you All-father, for the lovely men you sent my way; they were most amusing and entertaining.” He set the bow back behind him, placing his thin hands on his hips.

Odin opened his mouth, but no sound came out, his mind seeking words which might sate Loki’s anger, might preserve the lives in his hall.

“Now, enough of this useless chatter, I came to see the new Prince.”  He clapped his hand, smiling, and it almost looked as if he were being sincere.

Frigga pulled the babe from its place in the crib, burying him close to her chest and trying to step away. The crowds stirred, some taking a step forward as if in some attempt to grab the man and pull him away from the Chile, but fear kept them all from voicing or acting out their thoughts.

Loki, having seen the movement, rolled his eyes and sighed tiredly. “Oh for Gods sake, enough of this foolishness, I do not kill those who have not scorned me.” He took a step forward, watching as the Queen tried to move away, her eyes becoming nothing more than wide stormy baubles of fear and anxiety.

“Loki, surely you do not require-“Odin spoke, trying to placate the situation, his own fear building.

Loki’s head snapped in his direction, eyes beginning to bleed an unforgiving red, fangs lengthening.

“Do not defy me All-Father; your life is already close to its end, if I wished to slaughter your son, I would've done so by now.” Odin’s body slumped, breaths quickening. He watched edgily as Loki approached his wife and child, the distance growing shorter and shorter with each step he took.

When he was inches away, his hands able to grab the baby away from Frigga’s warm hold, her body began to shake.

“ _Please_.” She choked, tears beading in the corners of her eyes.

 Loki had always had a soft spot for children and mothers, his harsh features softening in response to the women's tears. He reached out a palm, his skin beginning to grow pink in response to her warmth. Ignoring her flinch, he ran his thumb beneath her eyes, wiping away her tears. His touch seemed to calm her, magic pulsing from beneath his fingertips and into her skin, soothing her mind and tense muscles.

“You still have many years of life All-mother, as do your sons. I swore an oath to protect the balance of life and death, not to abuse its power. If you cannot trust in me, then trust in my oath, for my life and the life of my daughter rests on me keeping my word.” Her hands still shook, eyes still watering, even as his hands moved over hers and lifted the restless, crying child from her chest.

He was an ugly thing; beautiful blue eyes swimming in tears, with long strands of golden hair curling around his head, so beautiful, Loki could barely stand to look upon him. He was a dark creature, residing in all things dead and cold, the warm and life-filled baby tugged at his heart in ways most uncomfortable.

Loki had seen and held many children, christened them with his mark and foretold their life and death, yet this one was different. When Loki held it, he could not see its death, not to say that it would live forever, but almost as if Loki’s own life could not reach that far and see how the prince would die. It was most curious and disconcerting.

It had been a while since Loki had extended his good-will to someone other than himself and his own children, and he had always had a fascination for things he could not understand.

His eyes flickering back to emerald, he conjured a small butterfly with his hand, watching as the crying prince began to calm, eyes wide in curious wonder at the small illusion. The butterfly tickled against his nose, drawing out a loud giggle as it settled and perched on the small slope. The small illusion combusted into a cloud of green dust, wafting over the button nose and drifting away with the breeze.

Eyes heavy, Loki watched as the magic took effect, the young prince yawning and closing his eyes, small body curling into his chest peacefully.

Setting the now slumbering child back in Frigga’s arms, his own skin burning with the loss of warmth, he turned back to Odin. Frigga watched him with wary yet confused eyes, the man before her significantly different to the monster she had heard about in her childhood stories.

“I extend my congratulations All-Father.” He bowed, though it seemed more a mockery than a sincere sign of respect. The relationship between the two was strained and had been since the death of Loki’s youngest son Fenrir, cleaved in half by the blade of Odin’s sword, nothing would ever fix the now fragile link between the two Kings.

 “I come bearing gifts.”

With a movement of his hand, he pulled a hammer from a small pocket in the air, the instrument long and daunting, with a neck of leather and felt, and a head carved and etched with runes.

“It is named Mjolnir.” His mouth moved around the word seductively, tongue moving as if he were speaking a spell and not a simple name.

“Crafted from the heart of a dying star, the only one of its kind. He shall receive it when I decide he has proven his worth and not a second before that.”

Odin nodded, motioning for one of the guards to take the gift. Loki’s expression morphed into an amused smile, his pursed lips holding back laughter as he handed the hammer over. The guard yelped as the tool cracked to the ground, pulling him with it.

 “It will only respond to the touch of its master and wielder, I can lift it because I have created it, Thor will be able to wield it when he has come of age.”  The soldier grunted as he tried to lift the stubborn weapon, but it didn't move from its position.

 Loki held out a hand, the hammer smacking the soldier as it lifted from the ground and into Loki’s grasp. With a whisper and a flutter of his fingers, the weapon was gone.

“I have placed it into your vault All-Father, where I trust you will keep it safe.”

Odin sighed, pressing his fingers together in a prayer-like fashion.

“Very well Loki, we thank you for this unexpected gratitude, but what is your cost.” There was always a cost, always a price when it came to Loki.

Loki laughed, his form shaking and hunching open as the tinkling peals of laughter tore through the room.

“ _Cost_? What on earth-“

“Do not _toy_ with me Death-bringer, nothing you do ever comes without a price!” Loki’s smile vanished, his eyes growing cold, smile staying yet slowly losing its warmth.

“Oh Odin, you know me better than I expected." His grin grew into a teasing smile, the words becoming a playful hiss. But when he saw Odin's emotionless glare, he rolled his eyes.

You're no fun! Very well, My price is quite simple.” Odin waited, watching as Loki turned, his gaze drawn around the room before returning once again to the throne. His grin wide.

“I want your Son.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

_I want your son._

The words existed between them for little more than a second before Odin had drawn his sword, his vision tinting red. Poison tipped arrows were drawn tight and readily aimed for Loki’s head, yet the man barely flinched, his smile growing impossibly wide. Frigga’s loud shout echoed in the chaos, her hands pulling Thor tight, trying to shield him from the violence.

“How dare you! Come here and demand my heir, you threaten me and terrorize my men, and then demand my son in return!” Odin snarled, pointing the heavy point at Loki’s neck, the metal touching flesh.

His eyes flashed dangerously, and with a small breath over the silver, the blade shattered into nothing more than a harmless stump. The arrows pointed at him began to bend and twist, their heads turning to face the hands that held them.

“How dare I?” He whispered the temperature dropping to an icy chill that made each breath visible.

With a quick lunge, Loki had Odin kneeling, his fingers pressing sharply against the fragile skin. The spectators cried out in weak protest for their king. Frigga could do little but watch as her husband’s fate was hung in the balance, her fingers pressing tightly into Thor’s body, almost as if his weight anchored her to reality.

“You have stolen from me my own children, slaughtered them and forced me to cut their lives, and now you stand here as if you have done me no wrong, as if it was not you that strung the insides of my son across my doorstep in a sick attempt to scare me.” Emerald bore into Pale Blue, both Kings staring with hate-filled eyes.

With a tired huff he pushed Odin away, his lip curling in disgust for the haggard King and his refusal to own up to his sins. Odin watched in growing fear, each of Loki’s words embedding ice into his veins.

Odin grasped his wrist, eyes wide and drowning in anguish.

“Please Loki, he is my heir, my youngest son, do not steal him from me.” He begged, the sight of the All-Father pleading seemed to shock everyone present.

“As you have stolen my children from me, you desire me to spare your own. I didn’t come to negotiate terms Odin, don’t forget who it is you speak to.” Loki laughed, Odin’s words triggering memories of the death of his own children.

“I desire the day I can watch your life burn to nothing, as your soul drags itself from your worthless corpse.” He spat, “The day you stand at deaths door, I will _celebrate_.” Pulling his wrist free, He raised his hand, preparing to strike down. His fingers curled, nails ready to tear skin from muscle and muscle from bone, vision tingeing red.

Frigga screamed.

Her own voice disrupted the young Prince’s calm and his loud wails filled the hall in an irritated series of screams, the sound of the crying child brought stillness to the storm brewing inside Loki’s body, drawing him away from the harsh memory of death and loss and bringing him back to the present.

Whether it was the sad, empty blue of Odin eyes, or the distraught cries of his Son, Loki found the desire to harm the king slowly dwindling away, his red irises fading into emerald. He was no merciless Killer, and death brought him no Joy, not even the death of his childrens murderer.

With a tired sigh, his hand dropped to his side and he stepped away from the kneeling King.

“I’m not here to steal or lie to you Odin; I am no thief despite your desire to paint me so. I wish to build a treaty between our people, I tire of the needless deaths you bring upon us because you fear my power. I will promise your people protection in return for your Son’s loyalty.”

Odin stared befuddled, eyes blinking in confusion at Loki’s words, trying to find the motive or foul-play in the reaper’s offers.

“But, _Why_? Why him, why not my eldest Baulder?”

Loki’s head bent backwards, an amused smile twisting his lips as he gazed up at the ceiling, considering his answer before giving it.

“I don’t know myself to be quite honest.” Loki whispered, and Odin suspected the words were more for himself than for anyone to actually hear.

“I suppose his pretty blue eyes have entranced me.”

He hid the truth behind teasing words and sparkling eyes.

How did you explain that a child had managed to capture your curiosity, like diamond found in the dust, how did you explain the desire to want to grab it and hold it close. Not even he could understand his present desire to own the child, to understand and grasp onto the creature that evaded his understanding.

When was the last time he had looked at anything with something other than disdain and irritation?

He couldn’t explain it; it was easier to not even try.

“What is your answer All-Father?” He asked, irritation and a longing to return home clouding his tone.

Odin found his mouth drying, his eyes scanning the room. Gazing at the faces of his subjects, their dark eyes teary and scared, his queen and child. His mind flashed with visions of a cracked skull and burnt bones, the cries of his son filling his ears, his hope of refusing the offer slowly becoming smaller and smaller.

He had no choice, none at all.

“Will you protect him, or am I selling my son like just another piece of cattle?” He whispered, eyes closing at how hopeless he felt. “Am I to strip away his happiness and his will, before he even has the ability to voice his dreams and wishes?”

Loki knelt in front of the man, for that was what he was, nothing more than a man with a crown, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Have I ever sought destruction without reason Odin, you forget that I was a mother before I was a keeper of life.  I will not steal the happiness or the life of your Son, not when he has done no wrong to deserve my wrath.”

Azure met Emerald as Odin tried to gather what fight he had left, but there was none. Loki’s eyes didn’t show falsehood, and Odin could not sacrifice the lives of his kingdom for the life of his son, such was the life and sacrifices of a King.

“Please, he’s but a child Loki, do not make him pay for the mistakes of his ancestors.”

“I won’t, I don’t desire him as an object of revenge, and I am far too old to be partaking in such trivialities.”

Odin could think of nothing more to say, his eyes watering as his Son’s life was torn from his hands and handed into the grasp of another, to give up control like that, was like handing a dagger to your worst enemy and trusting them not to slit your throat.

“Are we in agreement?” Loki said once again, drawing his cloak around him, a neat brow arched up.

And all Odin could do was nod.

“Yes.”

Loki turned away, not giving any of his attention to the crowd as he approached the wailing child. Frigga blinked up at him, she didn’t flinch or turn away, something inside of her assured her that Thor was safe.

“May I?” Loki indicated to Thor, a hand stretched out expectantly, his smile blinding as Frigga handed over the restless bundle of blankets and squirming limbs.

He quietened instantly, his crying settling into an irritated whimper. His blue eyes were screwed shut, but he showed no sign of being uncomfortable in the arms of someone other than his mother.

“Little Lamb.”

Loki breathed a tight breath, his eyes softening. Running a finger over the smooth skin of the child’s cheek, he felt warmth, long forgotten; now burning in his heart.

He pressed his thumb against Thor’s forehead, the tiny button nose scrunching up as a sneeze erupted from his tiny body.

A second passed before he removed his thumb, leaving a small and easily missed red dot in its place, a mark of identity and proof of protection.

Handing Thor back to Frigga, Loki casted one lasting gaze to the All-Mother, before his body began to shift and alter into itself.

Odin stared silently as the crow took flight from the now empty pile of clothes, circling the room and relighting the lamps that were situated around the hall, bringing warmth and a sense of festivity back to the silence.

His last words echoed Odin’s ears.

_“I will be back.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm making Loki a bit of a softie, but that doesn't mean he can't be BAMF when the time calls for it! Violence, smut and fluff is bound to come!!


	6. Chapter 6

**9 years later**

“Thor, my little dove, where could you possibly be hiding?” Frigga’s calls echoed through the palace as she searched for her son, her eyes searching each shadow and corner. He had grown into a ball of energy, grasping for things beyond his reach and desiring to do things beyond his capabilities, she could feel nothing other than pride for her youngest child.

Thor pressed his tiny hands against his mouth and pressed further into the bush, a small giggle bursting from between his fingers. His small body fit easily into the green alcove, hiding him from the searching gaze of his mother. Their game of hide and seek was always made interesting by the new places Thor could find to hide.

Hiding in the royal gardens, he heard the graceful footfalls fade further and further as his mother failed to spot him and drifted away to search elsewhere.

As stealthily as a small child could manage, he crawled out of his hiding place and stood checking to see if his mother was in sight. She wasn’t. He gave a quite victory yell and began to run deeper into the gathering of trees, chasing monsters not seen and fighting dragons made of twig and leaf.

Ever the seeker of adventure, Thor relished the brush of foliage and undergrowth against his body as he leapt and sprinted deeper and deeper into the tree’s, away from the safety of home and his Mother’s arms.

It grew darker and darker the further he went, until he had to squint to see in front of him. Looking up, the sky couldn’t be seen and looking back, the sight of benches and castle walls were invisible this far out. How long had he been gone? His mother wouldn’t be happy that he had wandered this far out, she always told him not to go so far from her supervision.

He didn’t expect the hand that shot out and grabbed him until it pulled him to a halt.

“Well, well.” A snide voice spat behind him, “If it isn’t the palace rat.”

Thor gave a whimper as the man’s hold grew tighter. He struggled, kicking out in a vain attempt to free himself, but the hand lifted him and dragged him round until he faced his attacker, his black eyes filled with an anger Thor had never witnessed before, and it frightened him.

“Let me go!” He spat, small legs kicking out even as tears began to bead at the corners of his eyes and fear began to grow in his gut, stifling his breaths. He yelped, choking on his tears pitifully as he heard an ugly crunch come from his arm, white hot pain enveloping his senses.

“Mother!” He screamed, calling out for her help, his cheek splitting as a hand struck him across the face.

“Silence those worthless screams of yours princling, there’s a high price over your head, many would pay mightily to have you at their disposal.” Thor’s bottom lip quivered, regret swimming inside of him as he wished he could go home and go to bed. The pain was unbearable and beginning to burn every part of his body, rendering him weak and limp.

“You’re Death’s bitch, what makes you so _special_. You’re nothing more than a pathetic runt.” He snarled, eyes manic, Thor barely comprehended his words, “Maybe I should sample what’s so special about you?” There was a sick twist to his words, and Thor’s struggling began to grow as a hand tried to tug at his breeches, confusion clouding his mind.

“N-No, please! I want to go home!” He screeched, earning another slap.

“I’m the prince! My Father will be angry with what you’re doing!” Those words earned another slap, this one cutting so deep that Thor could feel blood inside his mouth, his cries growing into breathless and uncontrollable sobs.

 Tears painted his reddened cheeks, eyes pressed together and prayers filling his thoughts as he begged for someone to help him, anyone. His forehead began to ache, His legs were weakening, the pain taking all of his energy as he tried to think around it, but he was just nine years old and his body had yet to build the capacity to cope with physical trauma. His breeches were loosened, and cold air brushed the skin of his underbelly, his gut began to twist in both confusion and an unconscious knowledge that he had to get away!

“Let’s see if he’s still willing to have you, especially if you’re nothing more than soiled goods _.”_ Thor saw the glint of metal as the man pulled out a blade, pressing it against his soft neck to keep him still as hands tugged at his clothes, the edge already cutting into the skin as easily as a knife into butter.

Thor was beginning to grow faint, his eyes rolling as his mind tried to drag him into the comforting warmth of slumber, away from the trauma of what was happening to him.

“Stop!”  He yelped as a hand pressed against his thigh, trying to press it to the side, “Stop it! I don’t like this, I want my mother.”

“Shut Up!” His head snapped to the side as the hilt of the dagger struck his forehead, cutting the small red mark embedded into his skin.

He felt faint, his vision swimming and a naive agony swimming through his heart as he ached for someone to save him and take him home to his mother. Darkness was beginning to creep into his vision, trying to drag him into slumber.

 But a sharp crack dragged him back.

 He was jolted into awareness.

Thor brought his gaze back, expecting malicious eyes and a crazed look, but what he got was completely different.

The man stared at him, eyes wide and unseeing, lips parted into a shocked ‘O’. A stream of blood dribbled from his lips and over his chin, till it finally fell to the bloody and protruding hand reaching out from the man’s chest, his heart grasped in its fist, stuttering and pulsing.

“You’ve got such a strong heart.” A voice hissed from the darkness behind the man, the hand clenching the still-pulsing organ. “Even when I’ve torn it from your chest, it still continues to beat, as stubborn as it tries to hold onto your worthless and disgusting life.”

Thor felt the hold on his arm fall away; his feet pushing him back until he collapsed in a heap of snot, tears and morbid fascination for the violent display. The man gasped, his gaze drifting down to stare at the protruding hand, mouth moving but not producing any words.

With a sickening pull, followed by the crack and gurgle of bones breaking, the hand pulled back out, allowing the man to fall to a dead heap on the Forest floor.

Thor whimpered, scampering further back, his arm pulsing with pain and his strength dwindling.

In his place; a man surrounded by a cloak of feathers, an odd sight, now stood. His red eyes faded into emerald as he turned his eyes to Thor. His gaze softened into a teasing smile, almost as if he were looking at a beloved friend or companion, which made no sense to the young prince, for he would remember meeting someone like this creature before him.

“Hello Little Lamb, aren’t you a bit too far from your pen.”

His blood covered hand was cleansed with a flick of his wrist, removing all traces of his brutal kill. Thor watched with wet eyes and a confusing desire to burrow under the feathered cloak as the man approached him.

Part of Thor trembled in fear, yearning to scurry away and run from the brutal individual before him, yet another wanted to go to sleep in the confines of his arms and be carried back home to his mother. He held his twisted and broken arm up soundlessly, his lip quivering, tears pouring from his eyes and broken hiccups spilling from his mouth. His body shook with each sob.

The man pressed a hand to his broken arm, the pain disappearing instantly.

He stared up, eyes wide and amazed. The man had cropped black hair, messy and wild almost like it had been chopped with an impatient hand and nothing more than a knife, but Thor was drawn to his emerald eyes which sparkled in the darkness.

“Who are you?”

Fingers pressed to his wet cheeks, and the man laughed, a deep, harmonious sound that Thor found himself smiling in response to.

“I am known by many names Little Lamb; perhaps one day we can meet on better terms.”

Thor’s irritation reared its head as his small face lit up red, cheeks flushing pink.

“I’m not a lamb!” He scolded indignantly, “My name is Thor, and I’m a _prince_.”

The man laughed, a smile etching over his features as he nodded.

“Of course you are and a strong one at that. But I call you Little Lamb, not because you are weak, but because you are pure of heart, it is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Thor frowned, not sure whether to accept the reasoning or to further battle the subject of his honour and title. His thoughts were interrupted by the loud and slightly desperate calls of his mother as she drew closer and closer. He looked back in the direction of her voice, a smile on his face at the prospect of going home.

“Are you going-“ He questioned the man, wishing to know if he would see him at the palace, yet when he turned back the man was gone, the body and blood taken with him. All Thor’s wounds were healed, and the pain was gone.

Thor hummed in confusion, pressing his fingers to the red tear over his tunic, proof that he hadn’t imagined the ordeal.

Frigga’s shout dragged him from his spot, and as the small child wandered away from the shadowed area, the flutter of wings echoed over head, a black crow taking flight from the tree’s, its beak stained with a single red dot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for the long wait, I decided to post two chapters instead of one! This jumps forward, to Thor meeting Loki when he is older, I'm probably going to do this quite a lot in this story so be prepared.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the tag warnings! Don't take them lightly!

Hela watched in shallow amusement as her Father dropped the bloody body against the black, tiled floor. Wings moulding into long wiry arms, claws lengthening into pale, smooth legs and feet as he touched the ground.

Drawing her leather cloak tight around her naked figure, she stepped away from the spray of blood that threatened to stain her flesh.

“Is he dead?” She curled her nose in distaste.

She watched as her Father knelt next to the still body and rolled it onto its back. With narrowed eyes, she could see it was a man with a beggar’s complexion. His face was rugged and worn; eyes shadowed with dark bags, skin dirty, with mousy long hair that hung in greasy streaks down to his neck. 

His eyes were screwed shut. If it weren’t for the large gaping hole in his chest, she would think he was merely unconscious.

Loki laughed, glancing at his daughter with a wicked smile. He pulled from beneath his feathered cloak, his bow, placing a finger along one of the hundred threads that were strung to the instrument.

“No.” He squinted, smiling and plucking the grey string, watching as it began to wear away with each passing moment. “He isn’t nearly that lucky.” With a quick movement of his hand against the man’s forehead and chest, his prisoner’s body jolted, pained wheezes falling from his lips as he bucked and shouted in panic, his soul being dragged back to the painful reality of life.

Loki grabbed him by the hair and brought his face up, relishing the horror-stricken expression that washed over the man’s face, before slamming it back down into the tiles, humming in satisfaction at the loud crack as the bone l dented with the force of impact.

“Be a good dog and be quite.” Loki crooned, his voice deceivingly gentle despite his actions.

Pulling a knife from under his cloak, Loki pressed the blade against the skin of the man’s neck, chuckling when the body flinched. He ran the metal teasingly across skin, pressing it against the man’s cheek.

“What’s your name?” He whispered, pressing the point against the man’s jugular, pulling a bead of crimson from the shallow cut.

“Bard.” He choked, swallowing, his face pale from blood loss and fear. “Bard Bengtsson”

Loki hummed, smiling as he extracted the knife.

“Tell me Hela,” He called, waiting for the telling sound of his daughter’s footsteps. “What do we do to dogs that serve us no use?”

“We skin them father.” She answered flatly, noticing the flinch her words caused their guest. “The skin is used for the making of clothing and gifts, and the meat is saved and cooked for our meals.” Her dark eyes barely flickered, as if she were merely repeating the weather.

Loki chuckled, pressing his hands together thoughtfully as he leaned forward, eyes glinting. “That sounds like an excellent plan.” He crowed. “Though something tells me you wouldn’t taste very pleasant, I suppose I’ll just have to make do with presenting you as a gift.” He moved the blade back into place, one eyes closing as he teasingly pressed the edge to several points on Bard’s body, almost as if he couldn’t quite decide where to begin his task.

“No...” The man whimpered, trying to struggle away but the blade pressed deeper with each movement. “Mercy...” He sobbed, reaching out to grab Loki’s wrist, but Loki slapped the hand away with a disgusted snarl.

“ _Mercy?_ I don’t know of such a word _dog_ , perhaps you should’ve considered your actions before you chose to harm a child, or did you not hear his cries for help.” Loki’s eyes darkened with barely contained anger, his calm persona cracking as he grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck and pulled him up.

“I was following orders!” The man cried, tears bleeding from his eyes as the knife cut a shallow wound into his flesh.

“So you admit to knowing that the boy you were harming belonged to me, or did your master forget to tell you that.” Loki smiled patronizingly. “Quite you pointless begging, I have no desire to hear your excuses.”

“No! No, Please! My liege, I’m poor, I do what I must to feed myself and my wife.”

“You and every other man before you.” He rolled his eyes, seeing through the blatant lie instantly. “Who gave you these orders?” He slammed the man down, relishing the pained yelp.

“Merchants! There’s a high price on the boy’s head, people pay good gold for the boy that belongs to death!”

Loki snarled, ripping the knife through the blood-sodden tunic and breeches, leaving more bare flesh to his disposal. The man began to yowl, struggling vigorously against Loki’s hold.

“What’s wrong, am I making you uncomfortable?” Loki snarled, the man continued to struggle, but he was easily stilled when Loki pinched his windpipe, tugging at it threateningly. His breath quickened to shallow pants, fear clouding his face.

“Be a good dog and lie still.” He hissed, “I want the final product to look perfect.” He grinned when he saw the dark eyes dilate in dread, sweat beading against pale flesh as the man began to shake.

“What are you going to do?” He stumbled over his words, his voice thick with terror.

Loki grinned, tapping the blade against his forehead.

“I’m going to skin you of course, that is what we do to dogs who become nothing more than useless sacks of meat, and then I’ll hang you up to dry and present you as a beautiful delicacy to the All-Father.” Watching the horror dawn upon the filthy face was as satisfying as tasting the blood of your enemy and watching the realization enter their eyes as they die, or maybe he was just a bit morbidly dramatic, he felt gleeful with excitement.

He laughed when the struggling grew in intensity, flicking his fingers to silence the screams and pleading. Vines began to crawl and bind the man’s wrists and legs down, till he was spread and prone on the ground, unable to move and get away.

“There we go.” Loki crooned in praise, brandishing another blade, “Now stop whining, you should be _proud_! You’ll be famous and remembered as an example to all who dare to test me, they’ll remember your screams and your blood when they think of hurting what belongs to me.”

The man’s mouth opened, soundless wails leaving his mouth as he tried to dodge Loki’s blade, but with his arms and legs tied down, he couldn’t avoid the first cut.

“I know the perfect touch to this process, a song!” Loki laughed, teeth shining as he grinned maliciously, beginning his work, his lips moving as words poured from his lips.

_ “I say to thine gods, I have wedded mine blade  _   
_and upon this day will take no other wife_  
_I have bones for her price_  
_and a barrow for our bed_  
_and the blood of our enemies_  
_to dress us both in red.”_

Hela watched blankly as her Father began the gruesome job of slicing and peeling layer after layer, cutting the connecting nerves which held the skin to the muscle and pulling it away till he had created a wet, steaming pile of flesh next to him. The sound of peeling flesh and metal cutting deep filled the silence, and had she been anyone else, she would’ve been sick at the stench.  The sight was horrifying, the mutilated body still shaking as more and more blood gathered around it in a dark, scarlet pool.

_ “It is hard to recall the man I was then _   
_returning from raiding across the wide sea;_  
_My heart full of pride and my ship full of gold,_  
_I watched for the strand where my love watched for me.”_

Even as the pain grew to an impossible intensity for the man, his life dwindling, Loki refused to give into fate’s design, not cutting the dying thread on his bow. He wanted the man alive throughout the torture, alive when he was thrown before the All-Father, mutilated and crying, only then would he be given the death he so rightly deserved. His words grew sharp and hateful as he made each punishing cut, the lovers hymn becoming an executioner’s lullaby.

_ We thought it was fog--and that out of season-- _   
_that cloaked our fierce prow and swallowed our wake._  
_But the thicker it grew, the more it smelled of burning._  
_We pulled the oars then till we feared they would break._

The man’s fingers stretched, reaching for freedom till they clicked from their joint, his body vibrating and shaking as it tried to work through the pain. Blood bubbled from between his lips, his teeth tearing into his tongue as he gritted his jaw and screamed.

_ “Some say I'm mad now, but I'm only enamoured _   
_of my new shining bride and her face in the light._  
_She weeps that she's thirsty, and I live to please her--_  
_we search for her satisfaction through day and through night._

_ Where a wraith goes, only wind marks its passing,  _   
_but where a man goes, a good dog can track._  
_And I'll hound them until the last wears the blood-eagle_  
_carved like a lover's knot deep in his back._

Coming to an end, he pressed his palm to the shaking and mutilated chest, feeling the heat soak into his skin as the blood covered his skin. He was done. 

“Father.” Hela interrupted, folding her hands behind her back, “I would wish to know why this boy is of such importance to you, you have never reacted so strongly towards criminals, what makes this instance so different.”

Loki set down his blade, wiping his now soaked fingers on his breeches and rolling his neck to loosen the knots in his muscles.

“My reasoning are mine Hela, as they should remain so.” Hela nodded, bowing her head. “Perhaps one day you will have something that you wish to protect, and then you will understand why I take great joy in this man’s agony.”

Hela didn’t understand; how could she? She was the creation of a loveless union, things like love and affection weren’t terms she had experienced or understood to the capacity that Loki spoke of.  The only thing close to love was the relationship she shared with her sire, but even that was limited, for she knew that her father could never love something with his whole being, for doing so would make it more painful when that person’s life ended and Loki would be forced to watch its soul fade away, his own fingers snapping the life in two.

“Enough thinking Hela.” Loki sighed, drawing up to his full height. “I have a gift to present, and I wish for you to accompany me.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion at his request.

Why would she need to be there?

He caught sight of her expression, and his smile widened.

“I have a feeling I might be there longer than anticipated.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I said there was violence, I hope you took that literally!  
> I promise not every chapter will be excessively violent and gory, I know you all want some Thor/Loki interaction, I promise I'm getting there!
> 
> I know its selfish, but your comments really pump my confidence, I like knowing that my writing is not completely suckish, so if you have time, send me a comment on what you like or hate, and keep an eye out for more updates!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is like realllly short! But I'll post part two later on today!

“What is the meaning of this?!” Odin shouted, the havoc in the throne room becoming uncontrollable as guards surrounded the two intruders and the disgusting body on the floor, woman shrieked, some fainting, others turning away and holding their hands to their mouths. Spears raised and ready to defend, Odin’s men awaited the All-Father’s orders, but as soon as one of the figures removed its cloak-hood, revealing pale skin and emerald eyes hidden beneath, their weapons dropped and they stumbled back in fear.

Frigga’s face was pinched in disgust and nausea as she tried to block out the sight of the mutilated body, her stomach churning when she saw it move. Not used to such brutality her ladies in waiting had already fled the room, but Frigga could not move from her spot, her feet glued to the ground.

“I bring a gift.” Loki smiled, ignoring the disgusted gazes of those around him. Odin’s eyes narrowed and his skin flushed in anger. 

“You call this a gift, what has this man done to deserve such brutality, why are you here?” Odin demanded, indicating for one of his healers to tend to the bloody sight. Two white haired woman stepped forward, carrying white cloths to wrap around the sodden form, but one glare from Loki stilled them.

“You _wound_ me Odin.” He laughed, shaking his head in amusement, his foot reaching out and tapping the bared muscle over the man's back, the responding flinch pulled a terrible gasp from its mouth. “I was summoned here, by the person this very man attempted to violate and soil with his disgusting hands.” Loki grinned at the look of confusion that crossed the All-Father’s face, relishing in knowing more than any of the idiots present.

“Summoned?” Odin choked; the concept that someone would willingly call Loki was bizarre.

The revelation that the man wasn't as innocent had him hesitating in his desire to have the healers tend to him, so he waited for an explanation.

“Tell me Odin.” Loki sang offhandedly, crooking a brow. “What is the punishment for attempted Kidnapping, assault and rape in your Kingdom?”

Odin paled, disgusted as he glanced at the mutilated body. “We don’t skin our criminals Loki!, they are confined to the our dungeons where our guards deal with them appropriately.” He shouted, earning a cackle in return. The body before his throne was beyond repairing, death would have to be given to the mutilated soul, Odin couldn't comprehend how even those crimes could earn such a brutal punishment, and why now? Odin had dealt with hundreds of child-nappers and rapists, they were dealt with harshly, but Loki had never involved himself before, what was so different about this criminal.

"This man received no trial, what you have done is beyond the laws of my court, why have you brought him before me?"

Loki sighed. rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Very well Odin, tell me this then.”  Loki sneered, his lip curling in a manic grin. His hand reached out and grasped the hair of the disfigured man, pulling it up to reveal muscle and bone, and a gasping, crazed expression of pain, soundless screams left the gaping mouth as the skin pulled at the irreparable wounds. 

“What is the punishment for attempted Kidnapping, assault and rape of the heir to the Asgardian Throne and your _Son_?” His sharp gaze pierced Odin, accusing and hard as silence embraced them. Loki’s words settled and took root inside Frigga and Odin’s minds, their skin paling to an unhealthy, sickly hue.

“No!” Frigga gasped, remembering the state she had found Thor in beyond the boundaries of the palace Gardens. Her hands cupped her mouth and nose, nausea swirling in her gut. The torn and bloody cloths and the red, dampness of his cheeks from dried tears.

They had scolded their youngest for wandering away and had dismissed his state for a simple accident, he hadn’t looked harmed, but perhaps they hadn’t looked deep enough.

Odin gaped at the sneering face of Loki’s expression, his breath leaving him as he himself remembered the state of his son and his quick dismissal. 

“Thor?” He choked, “Thor summoned you? My son...” Loki grinned, releasing the sordid hair and allowing the body to collapse back to the tiles with a wet 'thump'.

“I have to admit, he didn’t do so intentionally.  It’s amazing how desperate one can be when their seems to be no hope in sight.” Odin choked, pressing his fist against his mouth at the unsettling of his stomach. Frigga’s fist clenched, her earlier disgust at the punishment suddenly fading away as she wished she could inflict even more pain upon the broken form of her son’s attacker, the one who would dare to touch her child in any way other than with affection and care.

“Fetch me my Son!” Odin breathed, his voice weak, eyes screwed shut.

“My lord?” One of the attendants answered hesitantly, and jumped when Odin slammed his fist down on the throne, eyes glowing a rage-filled blue which seemed to shimmer like lightning.

“Fetch me my Son!” He roared, watching as the attendant scampered from the room in search of Thor.

“Odin, husband.” Frigga approached the throne, her worry pushing back her anger as she considered the sight her Son would walk in on, her young child-like boy shouldn't pay witness to such a brutal display as the one now staining their stone-tiles a muddy red.

“Are you sure that is wise?” Odin looked at her, his eyes solemn, and both of them shared their feelings of shame through one glance, shame at being quick to defend their son’s attacker,  shame at their inability to protect their own child from the brutal dangers that sought to steal away his innocence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is like realllly short! But I'll post part two later on today!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been gone so long!!! Don't shoot me, I'm sorry!!!  
> College has begun, deadlines, deadlines, deadlines!!!  
> But I'm happy have time to write this chapter.  
> Enjoy

When Thor had reunited with his worry-stricken mother, he had been swept into a torrent of hugs, scolds and rushed away into the palace to prepare for bed. His desire to share his experience had faded with each passing minute. The desire to tell his Mother of the feathered man, of his brutal killing and the way he had healed Thor’s arm. Yet, as he watched his mother’s faded eyes, dark with worry and slight anger, no excited tales crossed his lips, for he knew that what may seem exciting to him, would only bring more fear to her. So, surprising himself and his young mind, he kept silent.

Washing all blood from the ordeal, he had dismissed his nursery maid’s frantic concern, and had explained that the blood came from cutting himself upon tree thorns and leaves; luckily she had bought the lie with ease.

He didn’t forget the man and his feathered cloak, but instead horded his memory as a dwarf might horde treasure. Possessive and protective, he thought and smiled upon the experience, his tiny heart fluttering with childlike awe for a being he knew nothing of. Sharing nothing with even his Father, who sought to know what made his youngest son smile so warmly and secretively.

He did not tell, did not share, and did not forget.

Not until now. Hiding away in the library, his bright eyes glowing in the dim lighting, he lost himself in the past, musing over what he could remember, trying to sort through what was real and what was fantasy, yet his young mind had already forgotten the details of the event. The thought was frustrating, and he clenched his teeth and hands as he sought to remember what his savoir looked like. Time was blurring the memory, but he could recall bright emerald eyes and pale skin wrapped over sharp bone.

“My Prince!” Thor jumped as his small alcove was intruded, and for a small second he was back in the dark wood, cornered with a knife pressed to his throat. He blinked and the dark, stone wall greeted his panicked gaze.

“My Prince! Where are you?”

 “I am here.”

He stepped out of his hiding place, greeting the flustered expression of the servant.

The man sighed in relief, his frantic hands reaching for Thor.

Come with haste! Your Father has summoned you in the Throne room.”

 Thor stood wobbly on his feet, his small heart beating wildly both from panic over his vision, and worry over what his Father might want. He had rarely been summoned to the throne room before, and past experience told him that being summoned meant he was in trouble.

But what had he done wrong? He had been especially well behaved since the incident in the wood, what could he have possible done to be _summoned_.

His wrist clutched tightly in the servants grasp, he was led from the library. He fought the slight apprehension as the grip reminded him of harsh fingers digging into his thighs.

“Am I in trouble?” His voice wobbled, and the servant, his name unknown to Thor, looked back with a flustered and fearful expression. His skin was pale, and his pupils’ dilated, as if he had witnessed something truly frightening, it caused Thor’s stomach to clench uneasily.

No answer was given, Thor felt almost irritated at his question being ignored. Yet now, standing before the large and daunting doors of the Throne-room, all irritation fled and he was left with only worry.

Then the doors opened.

Light bled into his vision, and a black figure filled his vision, he became blind to everything else.

With quick, confident footsteps, his small form easily ran past both servants and guards, evading his mother’s hands, and deaf to his Father’s panicked shout. Fingers grasped at his tunic, yet missed as his lithe form swept through, like mist in their grasp.

Time seemed to slow as his tireless feet carried him through the chaos, and it only came into focus when he had burrowed himself into the warm, soft burrow of feathers, his face pressed into the figures side, the cloak now covering his form as well. The thick scent of smoke, mint and fire filled his nose, and his eyes stung with a relief he could not explain.

It felt like he was being reunited with someone of great importance, someone dear to him, yet he had not name or memory of ever meeting the man in his grasp, not beyond his experience in the woodland.

So why then, did it feel like he was being reunited with an old memory?

“Thor.” Odin’s voice swept through the piece, a thunderous cloud eclipsing the warmth of his sun, and he was reminded that he was not alone, and that his Father had summoned him here.

He froze, only then becoming aware of the slickness beneath his bare feet, the soles now sticky and grimy with red crimson. With a shocked yelp, he pushed back, yelping when he slipped, a hand catching him before he fell to the hard floor.

“Careful Little Lamb.”

The familiar tone and endearment drew his eyes upward to meet two emerald gems that sparkled with dark, gentle mirth. Thor’s panic eased, and he clutched at the hand as one would a life-line, not allowing his eyes to stray to the gore beneath his feet.

“Thor.” Odin’s voice was now thunderous, loud, causing Thor to flinch in apprehension at his Father’s anger.

He turned, carefully stepping with his slick feet, the hand slipping from his grasp and leaving him painfully alone. Looking up, his small body was horrible dwarfed by that of his Father’s throne, and he lowered his eyes respectfully, still trying to sort through his muddled thoughts to try and figure out what he had done wrong.

“My Son, look at me and answer truthfully.” He looked up, brow furrowing. “How did you meet this man?” His brow shot up in surprise, and suddenly he was aware of his audience. Thor may enjoy causing drama and attracting attention, but this time he didn’t want to share the details of his attack with so many listening.

His silence caused a murmur, and Odin struck his staff down in a demand for silence. Thor flinched at the sound, curling into himself, part of him questioned the wisdom of simply turning around and burrowing himself back under the thick, feathered cloak, out of sight.

A gentle hand set on his shoulder, a familiar warmth, and the soft voice of his mother followed.

“Thor, my love.” He looked up, vision blurry with tears he didn’t realize had gathered. Tears of fear of his Father’s wrath, tears of frustration over how cornered he felt, he despised feeling so trapped.

Frigga crooned, brushing the tears away and lifting his chin.

“Thor do not cry, you have nothing to fear here, we simply wish to know how you came to meet this man, you will not face any trouble for your answer.”

Thor stared at her, lip quivering and sucked in a shaky breath. He sunk his teeth into the shaking flesh to still it, and looked back up at his Father, his mother’s warm hand offering strength.

“He saved me in the woodlands; I wandered too far and was attacked by a man.”

“What did this man do?” Odin said; voice sharp, his eyes glinting, fist curling white around his staff. Thor stepped back, unsure of whom Odin’s anger was directed.

“H-He put a knife to my throat, and tore my clothing.” He pushed through the words, trying not to get lost in the memory of hands and knives. “He said he was going to “Test” me. I called for help, but his knife kept cutting into my skin. I was rescued just as the man began to pull my legs apart.”

Odin’s face was pale, and Thor thought he looked sickly with such a complexion. Looking at his mother, she wore the same, pale, hollow expression, as if his words were devouring them from the inside out. Thor suddenly wished he had told them nothing, his frown deepening and tears building in the face of their apparent anger.

Odin’s mouth opened, and Thor readied himself for more questions. But a shadow that moved in front of him, a black shape that separated him from his mother, and cloaked him from sight.

“That is enough, the boy is not mature enough to understand the depth of the crimes committed against him, and I will not allow any further damage to be done to him. He has told you the truth, and has validated my claims.”

The feathered-man’s hand lifted, and Thor watched as it pointed accusingly at Odin.

“Now decide _All Father_ , does the accused live?” He drew from his cloak a bow, endowed with thousands of threads, strung up and down the frame delicately. His reddened fingers running along the strings and pulling at one, separating it from the bunch.

“Or Die?”

Summoning a blade, he pressed it to the thread, and Thor watched curiously as he hovered inches from slicing the delicate string.

Odin’s expression flickered, and with a pale-face snarl, he lifted his hand, the action causing the feathered-man to grin darkly, the blade sliding through thread, cutting it. It reminded Thor of when he had snuck into the sparing arena, and had been witness to one of the slave’s neck being sliced, the blade sliding through the flesh and cartilage, ending the life without chance of survival. It was odd that such a thing would remind of such a violent and bloody memory.

Coldness swept through the hall, and Thor heard a snarl behind him, but before he could turn and sate his curiosity, fingers wrapped around his eyes and drew him into a warm, feathered cloak. There was a whisper, and something tickled Thor’s nose; causing him to sneeze. His eyes drooped, and he felt his body being lifted from the ground, his head resting against a leather-clad shoulder.

His last thoughts were curiously on the instrument he had seen. What was that instrument? Thor had never seen it before, yet it had a deep aura to it, an atmosphere which screamed of things beyond Thor’s understanding. He swept the questions away, filing them for later; he would get the chance to talk to the feathered-man later, away from prying ears and eyes. For now though, he succumbed to the darkness around his eyes, warm slumber pulling him into a deep embrace.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its short, Be warned, but it is fluffy!!

Thor dreamed of the dark night sky. His young mind swimming with stars and planets far beyond his reach. And at the tips of his grasp, two emerald orbs hovered, warmth emanating over his skin from the bright lights.  Strings wound around his fingers, like delicate rings of lace. He reached out, enclosing one bright light in his hand and pulling it close, feeling its formless weight before releasing it back to its partner.

A Red orb joined the two existing emerald spheres, dancing delicately around them before pressing close to create a darkish brown hue.

It was oddly intimate, but to Thor’s young eyes, all he saw was beauty, and he could do nothing but watch.

Reality intruded upon the stunning vision, warmth pressed to his side, something soft and furred, like a pelt, pressed into his arm, enveloping him in heat and life. Something wet swept across his cheek, and he felt the brush of warm air as whatever held him breathed out.  

He woke up.

With a scrunched up nose, he reached a hand up to wipe away the wetness across his cheek, his closed eyes flickering open and squinting with lingering sleepiness.

The Black snout that greeted him, snuffling and sniffing, caused him to topple back in surprise and a thread of fear flickering across his expression. He hit the floor with a pained wince, the massive dog sitting on his bed, staring down at him in bemusement, jumped from the covers to sniff his prone form, whimpering in concern as it nudged him into a seated position.

His eyes flickered open in surprise, staring at the seemingly harmless ball of fur, the seemingly harmless, _massive_ ball of fur. With an unsteady hand, he rubbed his hand over the dog’s head, his limbs dwarfed by its massive size, yet despite its imposing presence, it did nothing but whine and press into his touch.

“Don’t worry too much about that one, he’s harmless.”

Thor’s head shot up in surprise, not aware that he wasn’t alone in the room. Examination showed that he was in his own chambers, the familiar walls and toys easing his tense muscles. The soft glow of the setting sun shone through his open window, shining a golden hue across his walls. 

And seated across the room in his mothers armchair, a set of strings in his long hands, sat the feathered-man.

His emerald eyes glinted in amusement as he continued to weave, smiling at Thor as if they were the closest of friends. Thor pushed himself up to his feet, his excitement from the Throne room now hiding behind a shy hesitancy. Who was this man? Why did he seem so ethereal?

As if the sound of the man’s voice had awoken the instinctual desire to follow, the hound pushed away from Thor and leapt over the bed, toppling in a graceless mess of fur and limbs at the man’s feet. Its bones cracking as its shape began to change, fur retracting into gooseflesh. It rose to its hind legs, stumbling and scrabbling against the floor as the process took its toll. Whines and whimpers filled the room, becoming less animalistic with each passing second. Till finally, much to Thor’s amazement and slight fear, a young boy lay against his carpet. Where there was once fur, now there was pale, delicate flesh. The only hair over the boy’s body was the light mop of black on his head. He lifted a head, and Thor could see he was weak from the change, by the way his muscles hung limp.

Green eyes glittered tiredly from his young face, and Thor guessed that they must be about the same age.

The feathered man reached out a hand, cupping the young boys chin delicately between finely crafted fingers, and with a slight twist of his wrist, the body disappeared, leaving nothing of its presence behind.

Eyes widened; both concern and fascination brewing inside of him. Had the man killed the child? Thor prayed not, but something inside his head assured him that the boy was not dead.

“That was my youngest son Narfi.” The man said, hands busy with the thread work, and Thor could see that he was weaving. “He tends to stay out of the fray, being such a delicate soul, and so young, but I thought his presence might comfort you. You seemed to be having some rather disturbing dreams, from the way you kept whimpering and twisting about.”

Thor flushed, embarrassed at being caught with nightmares, he had hoped to grow out of such childish things, yet it was comforting to know he had not been alone.

“What is your name?” He asked, gathering his courage and curiosity and allowing it to boost his confidence.

The feathered-man smiled, green eyes sparkling as he looked down at the threads in his hands, making them disappear with slight twist of his wrist, Thor guessed that he must do that quite often. He beckoned Thor forward, and with hesitant steps; Thor obeyed, crossing the room, watching as small details of the man’s face became clearer and clearer.

“Come here that I look at you.” The man said softly, his hands reaching out when Thor was close, cupping his cheeks in both hands, his touch oddly cool.

“How you have grown since I last laid eyes upon you, you shall grow into a beautiful warrior.” Thor blushed, sighing when he felt fingers run through his hair, tugging gently at the ends of his braids.

“You were but a babe when I met you, so it is expected that you would not remember me.” Thor’s brow furrowed, trying to recall where he might’ve met the man, but being so young, it was impossible for him to recall that far back in the past, he felt almost guilty, the expression must’ve shown.

“No need to fret, we have plenty of opportunity to create new memories.”

Thor could not understand the excitement over the knowledge that the man was staying, his face split in a grin and he was met with an answering smile.

“Will you tell me your name now then?” He said, a hint of childish whining inching itself into his town, drawing a chuckle from the man and a nod.

“My name is Loki, Gatekeeper of the Afterlife, and Lord over the halls of Hel.”


End file.
